


Lucky Mistake

by orphan_account



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bondage, Collars, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Extremely Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, Trans Male Character, Trans Patryck, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-21 21:59:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15567231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Five months after Paul disappears off the face of the earth, it appears Patryck is at his wits end. What better way to relax than being drugged and kidnapped?this is possibly triggering so read with caution please





	1. Chapter 1

Soft footsteps were the only sound, other than the noise of passing cars. It was pretty late, Patryck wasn't keeping track, but he just wanted to be anywhere but home.

Five months. Five months since Paul had seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth. There were no leads, and the last time Patryck had seen him he was going out for milk. He was still waiting for him to come back, but he knew it wasn't going to happen.

Being at home just made him feel like it was his fault. If only he'd gone with him. If only Paul had taken his phone. Paul's phone was where he had left it, sitting on the coffee table. Patryck couldn't bring himself to move it.

It had just been sitting there for five months. Every so often, Patryck would get a notification, and excitedly check if it was from Paul, confirming he was still alive, but with the phone being in his house, it was very unlikely.

So here he was, finally trying to get over his boyfriend of six years, and looking for some company because he'd rather be anywhere than his own house. He walked down empty street after empty street, looking for a place to spend some time at.

He kept wandering, going further and further from home. He knew why he felt so guilty, but he wasn't ready to talk about it. He still wasn't ready to accept the fact that Paul was gone.

Turning another corner, he saw a rickety looking bar. Shrugging, he decided to give it a shot. Walking towards the door, he felt the familiar prickle of anxiety. He wasn't going to let that stop him. He was going to go in there, and he was going to enjoy himself.

He faltered at the door of the bar, before shaking off his anxiousness and pushing it open. It wasn't a busy night. There were a few people at the bar, so he walked up and sat down at the end, pulling a book out of his bag.

The door opened a few minutes after he arrived, and whoever it was came and sat next to him.

They were a rather rough looking man with two spiky points to his hair. Patryck looked up as he sat down, silver eyes meeting brilliant gold.  
"Aren't you a little too young to be here, kid?" He asked, and Patryck bristled.  
"Aren't you a little too old not to know how to mind your own business?" He huffed, looking away. He had just turned 22, but Paul had always told him he looked much younger.

"Why don't I buy you a drink?" He suggested, and Patryck forced himself to relax. It wouldn't help him to be standoffish or rude.  
"That would be nice." He mumbled, returning the man's smile. He put his book back in his bag.

When the bartender passed him the drink, he lifted the glass to his nose and sniffed it. It smelt nice, so he took a tentative sip, feeling eyes on him.  
"Thank you." He turned to the man, who's smile had turned playful. "I'm Patryck."  
"Oh, I know." 

"What?" He put the glass back down, a little uncomfortable.  
"It's a shame about your boyfriend.. it's such a shame no-one has anything for the police to follow."  
Patryck looked down, and then froze. How did this man know about it? It wasn't on the news or anything.

While he was looking down, the man refilled his glass with something from his own flask, and stowed the flask back in his pocket.  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. It must be pretty hard losing someone that close to you." He apologized, but Patryck shook his head.  
"Don't apologise. I guess I should probably be over it by now.

He took another sip from the glass, still looking down. By then, there were several red flags raised, but he was glad to be able to talk about it.  
"Do.. do you know anything about it?" He asked, and the man gave him a pitying smile.   
"Sadly, I don't. You can call me Tord." 

Patryck nodded slowly. Soon, he had finished the glass, setting it back down. Tord moved to rest his hand on his thigh, and he felt his ears redden a little, the edges of his mouth curling up into a shy smile.

They talked a bit more, before he began to feel a little dizzy.  
"I don't feel great.." he complained, rubbing his temples.  
"Why don't I take you back to my house?" Tord purred, wrapping an arm around Patryck's waist. He tried to decline the offer, but a sudden wave of dizziness caught him off guard, and he ended up gripping onto Tord's coat. 

If anyone were to glance at them, all they would see is him going home with someone for the night. The way his arms were haphazardly thrown over Tord's shoulders would undoubtedly solidify this assumption.

He tried to give any kind of sign that he wasn't going willingly, that he didn't want to go with Tord, but his body remained unresponsive and uncooperative.

Tord supported him until they were at his car, depositing Patryck on the back seat. He whimpered, unable to move or really do anything.  
"I'm sure you'll thank me later." He heard Tord's voice, but it sounded distant. He felt as though he was floating, and it was an awful feeling.

Letting out another whimper, he attempted to curl up, but his body would not let him. He had pretty much locked up, a cold sweat beginning to form on the palms of his hands. He was beginning to panic, which didn't help him as that just made him freeze up even more.

As his eyelids began to grow heavy, he gave in to it, and allowed himself to slip into unconsciousness. He wouldn't really mind if this man was going to kill him. He didn't want to live with the constant feeling that Paul was dead and it was entirely his fault.

 

Tord looked into the rear view mirror and chuckled to himself. This would most certainly be interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patryck needs a hug

Tord opened the door to his house, a simple three story house on the edge of the quaint little town, and pushed it open a little. Walking back to his car, he opened the back door and gently pulled Patryck out, carrying him bridal style. 

He carefully walked down the stairs into the basement, feeling blue eyes on him the second he hit the floor. He flicked on the light, carrying Patryck's limp body over to the cell in the corner. The other person in the basement knew all to well not to come anywhere near the door when it was opened, so they backed away into the corner, retreating to the pile of blankets that made up his bed.

Tord waited until he was suitably buried in them before gently placing Patryck on the floor. He took a switchblade out of his pocket, beginning to cut away at his jeans. He made a curt noise of surprise at the fact he was wearing girl's underwear, and then smirked.

His shoes were also taken off, and he searched his pockets for anything possibly dangerous. He took out keys, a phone and a crumpled picture of two people. He didn't bother looking at it, simply putting it back in his pocket. He took the keys and phone with him. Patryck wouldn't be needing them.

With that, he stood up, stalked out of the cell and locked the door behind him, and left them in the light provided by the weak lightbulb in the cell.

 

When Patryck came to, he was in a cramped space, containing a bowl of water and a pile of blankets, as well as a separate room which he assumed to be a bathroom.

He stood up, only to find he had been left in just his hoodie and top, as well as his socks. He shivered at the cold, tentatively reaching to tug a blanket out of the pile.

He dug around for a little, pulling out the softest one he could find and wrapping himself in it. It smelt safe, almost familiar, but he couldn't link the smell.to a specific person.

That was probably just because he hadn't smelt it in five months.

He wrapped himself up in it, curled up, and tried to ignore what was happening. He didn't realize he was crying until one of the tears landed on his hand, jolting him out of his sadness.

He laughed humourlessly, shivering, and wiped his face with the back of his hand. Deciding he'd probably be better off buried in the pile of blankets, he walked over, tentatively lifting the top few up to make a space for him to get in. His fingers brushed soft brown hair, and he jolted back, landing on his tailbone.

Deciding he did not want to see whatever was in there, he put the blankets back and retreated to his corner of the room. It couldn't be Paul. Paul was dead.

Shaking his head, he decided it would be better to try and see who it was. Crawling back over, he tugged at the top few blankets, taking them off, only to be greeted by two blue eyes. 

They both froze, staring at eachother. Paul was the first to move, emerging from the blanket pile and walking over to him. Patryck remained frozen, so he gently put his arms around him, allowing him to relax into him.  
"I thought you were dead." He whimpered, essentially wrapping himself around Paul. 

He pressed himself further into the familiar orange hoodie, Paul rubbing calming circles on his back. Paul had lost quite a bit of weight, and as Patryck gently slid his hands up the back of his hoodie, he felt scars under his fingers.

He looked up at Paul with a worried look as the basement door opened and then shut. Paul dragged him back into the blanket pile, knowing Tord didn't want him anywhere near the door unless he was being allowed out.

"You two can come out." His voice was cold and commanding, and he smiled humourlessly as they emerged. "Nice to see you're getting along so well. 

Patryck tugged at the bottom of his hoodie, trying to cover himself as Tord led them up the stairs. They ended up in what Patryck assumed to be his bedroom. Tord gestured for Paul to have a seat in the soft armchair in the corner, and then pulled Patryck up onto the bed.  
"I'd watch, if I were you." He advised Paul, who was gripping the sides of the armchair so hard his knuckles were going white.

Throughout their relationship, they had never actually had sex, and Paul knew exactly why Tord had brought them up here. 

Tord set about taking Patryck's hoodie off, as well as the cat shirt he was wearing underneath. When prying fingers came to the bottom of his binder, Patryck froze, a look of fear on his face. Deciding to leave it, Tord moved downwards, pulling off his pants and smiling wickedly.

He gently pressed a finger inside Patryck, who winced at the intrusion and looked over at Paul, was was steadily going paler. He wasn't watching what Tord was doing per say, his eyes trained on Patryck's face.

Gently curling his finger, Tord looked up to gauge how Patryck was doing. He wasn't holding up too well, tears beginning to pool in the corners of those pretty golden eyes. When he added another finger, he whimpered in pain, trying to shift away from the unwelcome feelings.

Paul looked away as he heard the clink of Tord's belt buckle, knowing Patryck was nowhere near ready to deal with this, and not wanting to see it. He closed his eyes as a quiet screech of pain was ripped out of Patryck, just wanting to sink into the floor and disappear.

Patryck was full on crying now, salty tears streaming down his cheeks. Tord kept his arms pinned by his side, going far too quickly to be comfortable for the smaller man. He shuddered as a rush of warm liquid filled him up, wanting to be sick.   
"Oh, wouldn't it be so funny to see you still claiming to be a man, even though you're pregnant?" Tord chuckled.

Thankfully, by choice, Patryck was infertile. He wasn't going to tell that to Tord, simply whimpering in shame and looking away. Paul stood up, picking up Patryck's shirt and hoodie from the floor. He knew Patryck would be too shaken to comprehend trying to escape at the moment, so when he stood up on wobbly legs, he wrapped an arm around him.

Tord led them back to the basement, locking the cell and leaving them be. Patryck had been sobbing into Paul's hoodie for the best part of five minutes now, and when Paul gently lifted him up to get him in the shower, he barely noticed.

He set Patryck down on the counter, pulling off his own hoodie. He left his boxers on. God knows they could use cleaning.   
"Pat, I'm going to need you to take this off." He murmured, gently tugging at the bottom of his binder. Patryck gave him a broken nod, lifting his arms up so Paul could get it over his head. Crossing his arms over his chest, Patryck allowed Paul to pick him up again and pretty much carry him to the shower.

He shuddered at the feeling of cum dripping from him, and jumped as the warm water hit him. Patryck put him down, and looked at him in concern.  
"Could I try and get this stuff out?" He asked, gesturing to the cum that was steadily dripping out of the smaller man. Patryck nodded, nervously jolting when Paul's thick finger pressed inside of him.

It was a peculiar feeling. Tord hadn't bothered to prepare him properly, so he didn't really know what it felt like. When he curled his finger to try and scrape the rest of it out, Patryck couldn't help but let out a small, shaky moan.

Paul cursed to himself. Patryck was so warm and soft. He wanted to shoot Tord where he stood for making him have to deal with something like this. Once he was sure he had gotten all of it out, he washed his hands off and set about washing Patryck's hair. 

It obviously hadn't been washed in a few days, and Paul found several knots when he ran his fingers through it. He was in a worse state than he was.

With some gentle tugging, he was finally able to get them all out. He didn't bother washing his own hair. He didn't need it. 

When they were done, he turned off the shower and led Patryck out. He was still far too shaken to comprehend much, so he just gently dressed him. After he had dressed himself, he gently picked up Patryck again, carrying him into the main cell. 

He perked up a little when Paul sat down with him in his lap, beginning to swaddle him in blankets. More than anything, he should he happy to see Patryck again, but he really didn't want it to be under these kinds of circumstances.

Pressing a soft kiss to Patryck's forehead, he waited until his breathing evened out and he slipped into sleep before allowing himself to do the same.


	3. Chapter 3

Patryck awoke pretty much rolled in blankets, resting against Paul's chest. Paul was awake as well, looking down at him with sleepy eyes. His entire body felt sore, and when he tried to get up, Paul tugged him back down.  
"Rest while you can." He advised, and Patryck nodded, melting back into Paul's chest.  
"When exactly does this lunatic feed you?" He asked, and Paul shuddered.  
"Whenever he thinks I've been "good."" Paul spat, and Patryck shivered at the implications of that statement. Paul gently pushed him away when the basement door opened, hurriedly scuttling back into the corner of the room. 

Patryck stayed where he was, fear slowly dwindling into terror. Tord stalked into the basement, looking supremely pleased at the look of outright terror on Patryck's face. He was holding a tray with two bowls, each filled with something, and whatever that something was smelt really good. There was a slot built into the cell door for trays to go through, so Tord knelt down and shoved it through.

Patryck stayed perfectly still, catlike eyes following his every move.  
"I think you'll be kitten." Tord mused, standing up. As he stood up, Patryck decided he was getting answers.  
"Why are you doing this?" He asked, eyes narrowed in downright hostility.  
"Because you deserve it." Tord growled, a sadistic smirk creeping on to his face.  
"Why, though." Patryck asked as Tord turned away to walk back upstairs. "Why us?"

Tord didn't acknowledge his questions, simply walking up the stairs and out of the basement. Paul had emerged again, perking up at the sight of food.  
"Why do you always do that?" Patryck asked, handing him his bowl. It was some kind of soup, with actual chicken in it.

"Tord has a habit of kicking me if I'm too close and his boots have metal toecaps." Paul explained, and Patryck nodded, tentatively sniffing the soup. It smelt really good, so he took a small sip.

When he had finished the soup, licking the bowl clean, he placed it back on the tray. Paul finished quickly as well, placing the bowl down with a satisfied sigh. He pushed it back through the hatch.

Shuffling back into the blankets, Paul patted the space next to him. Patryck went to rise to his feet, but the sound of the door at the top of the stairs opening had him freezing in place.

Tord strode down the stairs, and air of displeasure surrounding him. He opened the door to the cell, snapping his fingers and pointing to the floor just outside of the door.   
"Kitten, out here." He commanded, and Patryck tentatively obeyed, crawling out with his head low. 

Tord tugged him by the hood of his hoodie, bringing him upstairs. He shot a panicked look to Paul, who was peeking out from the pile. 

The basement door slammed behind them, and Patryck winced at the noise. Tord let go of his hoodie, but kept walking, so Patryck assumed he should follow.

Tord led him into his bedroom, which he recognised from the day before. He froze in the doorway, unwilling to step foot into the room. 

Tord sighed, giving Patryck's hoodie a gentle tug to encourage him to move.  
"If you're at all attached to the skin on your back, I'd advise you get in the room." He growled, and that had Patryck tentatively padding inside, looking at the floor.

By the time he was settled down on the dog bed, his knees were beginning to hurt. Tord had wanted some company while he was working, so here he was. There was a small dog bed in the corner of Tord's room, along with a bowl of water. Patryck watched with tired eyes as Tord worked, shifting ever so slightly to get more comfortable.

Eventually, he began to get thirsty, so tentatively shuffled over to the water bowl. He was contemplating how on earth he was going to actually drink when Tord looked up, snapping his fingers and gesturing for Patryck to come towards him.

He obeyed, tentatively crawling over and sitting next to him. Tord absent mindedly patted Patryck on the head, almost laughing at the indignant noise he made in response.

Shooting a glance over to the door, Patryck began to calculate how long it would take for him to get out of the house. The doors and windows were probably locked, so he'd have to break one. That would take quite a while, but if he was clever about this, it could work. 

Then he could get the address and call the police.

Mentally shaking himself awake, he began to quietly edge towards the door. Tord, gaze fixed on his work, didn't notice until Patryck was nearly at the door. Only then did he stand, and bolted down the corridor and to the front door, trying the handle, and when that proved ineffective, trying to get someone's attention from outside by banging on the window.

He scattered when Tord came down the hallway, darting into one of the rooms. When he tried to close the door, Tord stopped him, forcing it open and gripping Patryck by the neck. Taking a step forward, Tord eventually had Patryck pressed up against the wall, tears of fear and despair welling in those pretty golden eyes.

Tord let him go when he started clawing at his hand for air, but still didn't let up. Patryck slid down the wall, coughing loudly. Gripping him by the hair, Tord forced him onto his feet and pretty much dragged him down into the basement.

Paul was asleep, so there was no chance of him helping out. Patryck stumbled after Tord, trying to keep up to lessen the pain of being dragged along by his hair. Tord roughly forced his hoodie off, handcuffed him, and attached those handcuffs to a chain hanging from the ceiling. 

Patryck kept his gaze to the floor, flinching when he felt a whip being brushed against his back.  
"You have such nice skin." Tord remarked, "I feel like it would bruise perfectly."  
"Wait, please-" Patryck was caught out by the whip cutting into the skin of his back with a particular harsh hit.

He whimpered, closing his eyes and wishing himself out of that situation. Eventually, his back had begun to bleed, but Tord still didn't let up. He kept going until Patryck was weakly begging him to stop, and then and only then did he put the whip down.  
"Let this be a lesson to you." Tord hissed, unhooking the handcuffs. "I can do a lot more than just that to you if you try and escape again."

He shoved Patryck back into the cell, not even bothering to give him back his hoodie. He stumbled and fell, holding out his hands to catch his fall. The concrete floor was unforgiving, and he ended up just curling up where he fell and crying.

It would be better tomorrow he told himself, rolling over and falling asleep.

 

He was lying.


	4. Chapter 4

Patryck woke up in a puddle of his own blood with a excruciating pain in his back. He shifted, but that simply hurt more, so he hissed and decided to stay put. Paul had been asleep for a good nine hours by now, so he'd wake up soon.

Patryck didn't want him to have to worry about him. It was his mistake, and he should have been quicker. When Paul did eventually wake up, he gave him a hand up and into the shower to wash all of the blood off.

Every little movement hurt. He knew he was stupid for trying it and he knew he should have been more careful and now he was stuck with these cuts. Tord didn't come down into the basement that day, and they got to rest. 

On the second day after Patryck's escape attempt, it all finally clicked. Tord locked the doors before he took them out. The cage is impossible to get out without picking the lock, so he didn't need to have everything locked all the time. If they could get out at night, for example, everything would be unlocked and they'd be able to escape. Patryck had seen where Tord kept the keys and phone he had taken off of him, so he could get them before they left and he'd be able to get home and actually into their apartment.

After about twenty minutes of digging around in his hair, Patryck pulled out a single hair pin with a triumphant noise. Paul looked up, and smiled.

He had discussed the plan quietly with Paul, who agreed it would be good to try, but they weren't sure how to get the cell open. 

Now they had the hairpin, they could get out of the cell, but they'd need to wait until Tord was definitely asleep.

It took a while for him to stop moving around, and they gave it about half an hour after the noises had stopped to cautiously pick the lock. 

Paul unhooked the padlock when Patryck was done, setting it in the pile of blankets so it wouldn't make any noise. The cell door didn't squeak, they knew that, so it was easy to push open. Patryck grabbed his phone and keys from the dresser in the corner and then they tentatively climbed the stairs.

Paul pressed his ear against the basement door, just to clarify Tord was definitely asleep.

When they were definitely sure, Paul opened it and they tentatively walked into the house. Patryck found his shoes by the door, and Paul "borrowed" some of Tord's.

They didn't have time to look for anything else, so they simply twisted the door handle and took off into the night. 

 

 

Patryck stopped running when he found the bar. They went inside, and he sat at one of the tables and called the police. He had noted the address of the place, so they'd be able to catch Tord if they were quick enough.

Two police officers showed up to talk to them a few minutes later, and they could only assume there were officers at Tord's house by now.

After the questioning, the police officers gave them a ride home in their car. Patryck swung open the door, and stepped inside. He yawned, but Paul wasn't ready to let him sleep yet. He pulled him into the bathroom and set about disinfecting and bandaging the wounds on Patryck's back.

 

Once he had done that, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Patryck's lips. When he pulled away, Patryck stood up.  
"I'm going to bed." He yawned,and Paul smiled, standing up also.

It was nice to sleep in a bed again, especially with Patryck. The feeling of him pressed against his chest made it far easier to slip into the first decent night's rest he'd had for months.


End file.
